BEGINNING THE CASTILLO

To start the work at St. Augustine, Queen Mariana chose Don Manuel de Cendoya, gave him the governorship of Florida, and sent him to Mexico City to confer with the Marqués de Mancera, Viceroy of New Spain. Cendoya's first task was to collect the promised 12,000 pesos for starting the job, and that accomplishment he reported in the middle of January 1671. The disquieting news of the English settlement of Charleston gave point to his discussions with the Marqués.

On his way to Florida, Cendoya stopped at Havana, looking for skilled workmen—masons and lime burners. There he found an engineer, Ignacio Daza. It was on August 8, 1671, that the first workman began to draw his pay. By the time the mosquitoes were sluggish in the cooler fall weather, the coquina pits on Anastasia Island were open, and two big limekilns were being built just north of the old fort. The carpenters put up a palm-thatched shelter at the quarries; they built a dozen large, square-end dug outs and laid rafts over them for hauling stone for the fortification and fire wood and oyster shells for the limekilns; and they built boxes, handbarrows, and carretas (long, narrow, hauling wagons). At his anvil, the blacksmith made a great noise, hammering out axes, picks, and stonecutters' hatchets, and putting on their steel edges; drawing out the bars to the proper length and flattening their ends for crowbars; working shapeless masses of iron into shovels, spades, hoes, and wedges; and for lighter work, making nails of all kinds and sizes for the carpenters. The grindstone screeched as the cutting edges went on the tools.

In the quarries 3 leagues from the presidio, Indian peons chopped out the dense thickets of scrub oak and palmetto, driving out the rattlesnakes and clearing the ground for the shovelers to uncover the top layer of coquina. Day after day Alonso Diaz, the quarry overseer, kept the picks and axes going, cutting deep grooves into the soft yellow stone, while with bar and wedge the peons broke loose and pried up the rough blocks—small pieces that a single man could shoulder, and tremendously heavy, waterlogged cubes 2 feet thick and twice as long that six strong men could hardly lift from the bed of sandy shell. As a layer of stone was removed, again the shovelmen came in, taking off the newly exposed bed of loose shell and uncovering yet another and deeper stratum of rock. Down and down the quarrymen went until their pits reached water and they could go no farther. Diaz watched his peons heave the finest stone on the wagons. He sent the oxen plodding to the wharf at the head of a marshy creek, and carefully balanced the load of rough stone on the rafts for ferrying across current to the building site. And on the opposite shore of the bay, next to the old fort, the pile of unhewn stone daily grew larger, while the stonecutters plied their squares and chopped unceasingly to shape the soft coquina for the masons.

In the limekilns, oyster shells glowed white-hot and changed into fine quality, quick-setting lime. By spring of 1672, there were 4,000 fanegas (some 7,000 bushels) of lime in the two storehouses, and the great piles of both hewn and rough stone were a welcome sight to the people of St. Augustine.

Most of the rooms open into the square courtyard or parade of the fort. The well in this corner furnished the only palatable water supply for refugees inside the fort during times of siege.

Though it was only preparation for the main job, great obstacles had already been overcome. Very little masonry had ever been done in the presidio, and, with the exception of the imported artisans, the workmen had to be trained. Even the imported ones had much to learn about coquina, the natural shellrock peculiar to this section of Florida. Coquina is nothing more than broken sea shells cemented together by their own lime. Where the layer of shells has been under great pressure, the rock is solid and hard; where pressure has been less, the stone is coarse and easily crumbled. The men had to become expert in grading the stone, for only the hardest and finest rock could go into the fortification. There was also a shortage of common labor. When there should have been 150 men to keep the 15 artisans working at top speed—50 in the quarries and hauling stone, 50 for gathering oyster shells and helping at the kilns, and another 50 for digging the foundation trenches, carrying the baskets of sand, and mixing mortar—it was hard to get as many as 100 laborers on the job.

Indians from three Nations, the Guale (Georgia), Timucua (eastern Florida) and Apalache (western Florida), were called upon for labor. Some of them had to travel 80 leagues to reach the presidio. Many of them served unwillingly. There were serious domestic problems, for these peons had the choice of bringing their families with them or leaving the women and children in the home villages to eke out their own living. In some cases, not even the chiefs were exempt from the draft. In theory each complement of Indian labor served only a certain length of time; in practice it was not uncommon for the men to be held much beyond their assigned time, either through necessity or carelessness. One wretched chief was forced to labor on the works for more than 3 years without once returning to his own lands. Some of the Indians were used as servants by the Governors. True, the Indians were paid for their labor. Even the Apalaches, condemned years before to labor on the fortifications as the penalty for rebellion, apparently received a wage.

The Indian peon was cheap labor—1 real (12-1/2¢) per day, plus rations of maize—but he was not good labor, for by nature the Indian was unfit for heavy work on a European-style fortification. A brave might play the bone-breaking game of Indian ball for a full day, but he could not stand up under the "day-in, day-out," grinding, back-straining labor of the quarries. Not all the Indians, however, were common laborers. A half dozen developed into carpenters, and though they did not receive the top wage of 10 to 12 reales, they seemed well pleased with their 8 reales—which was twice what apprentice carpenters earned.

In addition to Indian labor, there were a few Spanish peons who were paid 4 reales per day, a few of the Crown's Negro slaves, and a number of convicts, either from the local presidio or sent from Caribbean ports. The convicts served terms of varying length, depending upon the nature of their crimes. A typical convict might have been the Spaniard caught smuggling English goods into the colony, and he was condemned to 6 years' labor on the fortifications at St. Augustine. If he tried to escape, the term was doubled and he faced the grim prospect of being sent to a fever-infested African presidio to work it out.

Spanish skilled labor included the military engineer, Ignacio Daza, who was paid the top wage of 3 pesos per day. Daza died within a year of his arrival in Florida, so the Crown paid only the surprisingly small sum of 546 pesos (about $862) for engineering services in starting the greatest of Spanish Florida fortifications. Of the artisans, there were Lorenzo Lagones, master of construction, and a pair of master masons, each of whom received the master workman's wage of 20 reales (about $2.50) per day. In addition there were 7 masons at 12 reales, 8 stonecutters at the same rate, and a dozen carpenters whose pay ranged from 6 to 12 reales per working day.

There were few men for the job in hand, and to speed the work along Governor Cendoya had to be ingenious and resourceful. Constantly on the lookout for labor, he seized the opportunity of using prisoners from the Carolina Colony, and, ironically enough, they were of exceptional help in building this defense against their own countrymen. Back in 1670, a vessel bound for Charleston Harbor accidentally put in at Santa Catalina Mission, the Spanish frontier post near the Savannah River. William Carr and John Rivers were captured. A rescue expedition set out from Charleston, and when the sloop arrived at the Mission, Joseph Bailey and John Collins took a blustering message ashore. For their pains, they were dispatched with Rivers and Carr to St. Augustine. There, from time to time, they were joined by other English prisoners.

The Governor did not long hesitate in putting them to work. Three of the prisoners turned out to be masons, and the Spanish form of their names—Bernardo Patricio (for Bernard Patrick), Juan Calens (for John Collins), and Guillermo Car (for William Carr)—appeared on the pay rolls. Some of the Englishmen entered into the life of the presidio as permanent residents. At least one of them took a Florida bride. Although the Spanish were cautious in depending too much upon the fealty of these Englishmen to the Spanish Crown, there was little occasion to denounce their unwillingness to serve.

John Collins especially pleased the Spanish officials. He could burn more lime in a week than Spanish workmen could in twice the time, and what was also to the point, as a prisoner he had to be paid only 8 reales instead of the 20 due a master workman. This Juan Calens appeared to like St. Augustine. He rose steadily in the Crown's employ from master of the kilns to quarry master. Next he took charge of the dugouts, the provisions, and the convicts. Eventually he held even the important office of pilot from St. Augustine to Charleston. Royal recognition of his zeal and loyalty was the culmination of his 19 years or more of service in the presidio.

Salazar's plan of the Castillo shows construction to 1680.

Another unusual case developed a few years later. Some leagues north of St. Augustine, 11 Englishmen were captured. All of them except one Ransom were committed to the galleys. Ransom was to be hanged. On the appointed day this man ascended the scaffold. The hangman put the noose about his neck. The trap opened. The rope jerked taut, then broke. Down tumbled Ransom, safe and sound. While the onlookers marveled, the friars took it as an act of God and led Ransom to sanctuary in the Convent of San Francisco. Word reached the Governor that this man was an ingenious fellow, an artillerist, a carpenter, and, what was most remarkable, a maker of "artificial fires." Ransom was offered his life if he would leave sanctuary, live "protected" within the fort, and put his talents to use. He agreed and, like Collins, was exceedingly helpful, for none other in the presidio had such abilities.

All told, there were close to 150 men working in those first days of feverish preparations. They, along with about 500 other persons, including about 100 effective soldiers in the garrison, a few Franciscan friars, a dozen mariners, and the townspeople, had to be fed. When supplies from New Spain did not arrive, the problem of providing food was even more difficult than finding men to work on the fort, especially since the sandy soil around the presidio yielded poorly to the primitive agricultural practices of the seventeenth century.

Indian corn or maize was the staple, and most of the planting, cultivating, and harvesting of the extensive fields near the town was done by Indians brought from their provinces to do the work, so that at times there were as many as 300 Indians serving the Crown in the presidio, counting those at work on the fortification. The Indian peons were furnished rations of maize both while they were in St. Augustine and for their journey over the wilderness trails to their homes, and certain of the convicts were also given a ration of Indian corn. This native corn cost the Crown 7-1/2 reales per arroba (25 pounds) and an arroba lasted the average Indian only 10 days.

Flour was imported from New Spain at a cost of 10 reales per arroba, and the master workmen, the English masons, and the Spanish convicts were given rations from this store. In addition, these convicts received a ration of meat. Fresh meat was not plentiful, but the waters teemed with fish and there were plenty of shellfish. A paid fisherman kept the men supplied. There were few garden vegetables. Squash grew well in the sandy soil, and there were beans and sweetpotatoes, citron, pomegranates, and figs. The orange had already been introduced. And of course there were the favorite seasonings of onion and garlic. Withal, however, it must be re membered that St. Augustine was not a self-supporting settlement. After a century of existence, it still depended for its very life upon the subsidy from New Spain.

As the long, hot days of the second summer shortened into fall, Governor Cendoya saw that after a year spent in gathering men and materials he was ready to start construction.

No long-drawn-out survey and detailed study helped to locate the castillo, for the Spanish had learned their lessons by a century and more of experiment on the shores of Matanzas Bay. Engineer Daza and Governor Cendoya decided that the new fort should be erected on the west shore of the bay by the side of the old fort, a site which took into account every natural defense feature of the harbor. Here, the enemy would find it almost impossible to bring his heavy siege guns within range. A shallow bar at the channel entrance kept the bigger warships out to sea. Any other vessel entering the harbor had to pass under the fort guns. The town and the fort were on a narrow peninsula surrounded on three sides by water or impassable marsh; the fourth side—the northern neck where the old fort stood—was constricted by a meandering creek. Beyond the marshes was wilderness—the pine barrens and cypress swamps, palmetto scrubs, and oak groves. Roads were but Indian trails and the quickest passage from one coastal fortified post to the next was along the inland waterway in dugouts. Attackers might march quickly down the coast on the wide, hard beaches (provided they could cross the numerous estuaries on the way), but they were still faced with an advance over broad river and marsh before they could reach the fort.

Nor was it a problem to work out the plan for the castillo. Both Daza and the Governor liked the design of the old fort. They, meeting with the General Council, decided merely to build the castillo slightly larger in order to make room for quarters, guardroom, chapel, wells, ovens, powder magazine, and other essential rooms not included in the old fort. In line with the more recent ideas, Daza recommended a slight lengthening of the bastions. All around the castillo they planned to dig a broad, deep moat, and then surround the land sides with a high palisade.

It was a simple and unpretentious plan, but a good one. Daza was apparently schooled in the Italian-Spanish principles of fortification as developed from the sixteenth century designs of Franceso de Marchi, for Sébastien de Vauban, the great French engineer, was still but a young man in 1671. Little is known about Ignacio Daza, but if he were the typical military engineer, he was nothing if not practical. And Daza, if he were typical, was more than a draftsman. For a military engineer, it was "not sufficient to know how to draw plans, profils and landskips; to understand a few propositions in geometry, or to know how to build a wall or a house; on the contrary, he ought to be well grounded in all the most useful branches of the mathematics, and how to apply them to practice, natural philosophy, and architecture; have a good notion of all kind of handicraft works; and above all things, to be well versed in mechanics."

Last Modified: Thurs, Sep 11 2003 10:00:00 pm PST source/is1/is1b.htm